Rielle - The Bio's!

[Rielle]

Title PWNz.

Eh-heh. So, on to the Bio's! ^^

Quiren, Forest Setting, Before Dawn -

Silvery swirls of mist coiled their white tendrils 'round the slim but athletic figure of a figure, hurriedly weaving his - or her; it was not impossible at this distance - way through the gnarled trees and dark leaves. Only dull colors decorated this part of the forest, an a mood of melancholy was settled over it like a funeral shroud, and it befitted the traveler in mind as well. The cloak of the being, who could now be seen as a male, was a dull grey, faded to the extent that the fact it had once been a white garment could not be seen from the attire's condition alone. Of course, this was due to the many miles the wearer of the cloak had traveled; his black and white tunic, brown breeches and tan leather boots also showed much wear.

However, even as the male lifted his formerly bowed head to look around, his grey hood fell to his shoulders, revealing his features. His complexion was pale, ghostly even, his eyes and mouth set into a grimace; dark, ebony locks with but the occasional streak of snowy white trailed down to his waist, an old style for a man. But, perhaps his strikingly odd appearance was simply of his Elven heritage; yes, it must have been, and he had also inheritted his keen senses and sharp mind from his Elven ancestors. His children would never inherit those abilities, for he would most likely never have children at all - even now at the average age of 167, which was about 26 human years.

But as arcane as the Elven male appeared, not even the birch bow and quiver that he himself had shaped out of nature - by a song, no less! - nor the cloak and hood that now hid his features and physical being could hide that sense of purpose he had about him, nor his foreboding and grim personality.

[Rielle]

Esmira, Forest, Evening -

Dark swirls of midnight blue cloth swam around the ankles of a being whose haggard appearance did nothing but give away her race, as did the two pools of silvery white color that were the being's eyes. If we were to say that 't was a simple human being that had entered the domain of the forest's foreboding and almost mystical depths, we would be utterly wrong. An elf? A dwarf? Perhaps saying that the female was of Elven blood may have been quite closer than saying she was pure human - or human at all - but it would not have been right on the mark. Yes, an elf, but not any elf like those whose magic and very /being/ was so very pure and so tuned into ever aspect of the world. Or, to be more accurate in this description of Esmira, a fallen elf, a Shadow.

Much like a shadow did Esmira herself seem, in fact, as she wove throughout the crooked trees, gnarled branches almost passing past like blurred as she quickened her pace. Her midnight blue cloak did well to conceal her from ones of human-like sight, though she doubed very many would be decieved by it. Of course, perhaps she did not wanted to hide at all, or perhaps it might have been her almost young and preserved age of 107 - in her early twenties, she was, and though she might have more sense and intelligence than a just-bourne babe, she would never have as much as the knowledge and wisdom one of her deceased mother's age may have accumulated.

However, as her tapered ears caught the sound of a whistling 'swish', she soon pushed it out of her mind. What brought her here was far more important than the sound of her own silvery and jet locks. The frown upon her pale, ivory features deeped slightly, as slight lines appeared upon her forehead and she bent down to set her now drawn dagger aside, her hand gone to but one of her two glimmering hookblades as she studied the track of another being. Yes, 't was like a sillhouette upon the ground, but that did not mean Esmira could not see it. Even a Shadow could retain the almost godly skills of their former pure selves.

[Rielle]

Deliar && Revan, Ice Kingdom, Early Morning -

Sharp footsteps fell upon the icy blue ceramic tile floor as a young woman of perhaps 23 years stepped out from the sheild of a few ivory white veils to the balcony of her private chambers. Her dove white locks of hair fell down straight, as simply adorned as the simple tiara that rested upon her head.

The lips of the young woman parted to speak, just as she looked over to see the icy reaches of her newly anointed responsibility - the responsibility of an entire kingdom, though no words came.

Yes, a female ruler would have seemed preposterous to a few, but to many of the Kingdom of the Northern Ice, the Queen Deliar was the best choice out of the two twins whom the former Queen had bourne. Even the new Queen herself did not know what madness they had come to to have chosen her, for as the second of the two twins, she should have been destined to remain a princess forever. Instead, 'twas her brother - Revan - who should keep his title forever.

Gentle and bland - those two words one should never use to describe a woman of the Northern Ice. Their strength was not of the physical body, it was true, but brilliance and the yearning to learn made up for their weakness of body.

Deliar was an exception, perhaps, for her mind did not wander to books of facts and laws but to books of theories and magic. Indeed, though her brother was a skilled hunter and warrior, she truly was one to meddle in magic, for her power - as was her heritage - was of Ice. That cold element that could kill, hide and even shield. The very building and balcony in which the newly anointed Queen, even, was a manifestation of this power of hers - to be able to create and destroy Ice with simple willpower, yes. Simple will may be, but a powerful thing it was. Even the small icy shards that clung to the hem and billowing sleeves of her slim ivory dress were small manifestations of the power she could and yet could not control.

---

As Deliar looked down upon her people from the Balcony of the Queen, so did Revan look, from the utmost highest peak of the Ice Citadel, the palace in which the royals of Nothern Ice had always resided. 'T was the Dawn Chamber, as it was named by the First of Kings, where the dawn first shone through as sun began its celestial dance across the sky. A perfect focus point at that time, it was where Revan now stood, upon a balcony of his own, his smooth features twisted into a deep scowl of anger and frustration. How, he thought, how dare the people of this foul, barbaric kingdom choose that weak little ninny of a woman over me! His mind was a turmoil of thoughts and disgusted comments of the choice the people had made and his sister. With every comment he thought up, he brought his gloved fist down upon the balcony rail, and again. Fine cracks could now be seen in the ice, though it was not fragile and did not break as he repeatedly beat down upon it. His brow was furrowed with deep lines, and as he looked towards the mountainous horizon, his deep hazel brown eyes glittered with that which his mind was so full of - the thoughts of revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge.

Yes, this was the Revan that Deliar so loved as her brother, and though the seed of comtempt was so soiled within him, there could be no doubt that this was THE Prince Revan of the Northern Ice. The Prince who should have been - and still wishes to be - a King.

[Rielle]

Amelyl, Masquerade Ball, Night -

As the full moon cast its almost impeccable and glittering visage upon the surface of the lake's crytal clear waters, ripples could be seen - ever so slightly, if not at all - concentrated upon the utmost centre of the lake, brushing against the shore only minutes later and then disappearing as the source of the water's movement rose above the body of water's surface. Again, ripples continued to be seen upon the surface as the bare feet of a young woman made contact with the water, though she did not sink beneath it. She made very little sound, her lips staying shut, though curling in a faint smile, and her movement staying little but for the cautious steps the female took towards the shore.

Bare though her feet were, the young woman was quite suitably clothed for the event that was to take place at the prestigious but ancient castle near her now moonlit home, and although she seemed to have risen right out of the water, only the drops that plunked onto her shoulders from her pale, silverly-white locks had touched her. Very few jewels or ornamental adornments were worn by the young woman, but she still seemed to have captured the white glow - though, sadly, quite diminished - of the moon herself in her poise and elegance. Still, her faint smile turned to a scowl when her feet finally touched the grass, teetering to one side. Balance was not so easily on land as it were for a lake being, but the young woman managed, though the simple white gown, brushing her lower thighs. The hems were quite simple as well, but still flashed silver embroidery, and designs similar to that of the Celtic. As the young woman - rather, nereid - regained her sense of poise, she again began to silently but gracefully walk. Her destination was, of course, the Castle that overshadowed her home, and the ball that was to be held within.

[Rielle]

Seserli, Forest, Late Afternoon -

Small birds took flight with raucous noise as the shape of a young woman pushed through the undergrowth, muttering a string of foul words under her breath as she flung troublesome branches and shrubbery out of her path, obviously none too quiet and none too calm, either from the way the corners of her rose-hued lips turned down in a deep and furious scowl, and the many twigs, leaves and stains on her rough garments. "Filthy beasts," the young woman muttered, pushing back stringy strands of ebony from her unblemished forehead and keen emerald eyes. A faded forest green cloak, fastened with a dull silvery-grey brooch at her neck, snagged on the leaved branches of a nearby oak, causing the female to shout as she felt it pull at her neck, drawing a sharp throwing knife from the many strapped to her beige breeches, before tugging furiously at the garment, and deepening her scowl at her foolishness. Obviously unaccustomed to cross-country travel, the young woman's fury dissolved as she sighed, wiping her sweaty forehead with a green, belled out sleeve, pursing her lips and sheathing the weapon she held. /Why/, she mused exhaustedly to herself, /Why in all of bloody goodness did I have to be so stubborn and choose the HARD way to Elahrine?/

Pushing her self-pitying thoughts to the back of her mind, she kicked at a random bush, only to have her foot entangled in its thorny branches, and to fall to the ground in a heap of clothing and flesh with another loud yell.

[Rielle]

Veila, Forest, Dusk -

Dark strands of hair shielded the wide, innocent eyes of a 17-year-old female as she pressed her hand against the rough bark of an oak and took a deep breath, panting and bent over as if about to regurgitate. Pressing a hand upon her heart as she did so, she looked over a shoulder. Her formly colorless eyes now turned a myriad of pastel colors as they filled with fear, seeing the many aroused villagers chasing after the young Sorceress. Yes, a female of the Arts of Magic, but not one so skilled as you would have expected; in fact, she had only ever learnt anything from a single book, which was now stowed away safely within the satchel that hung from her shoulders. As she began to run oncemore, the satchel made thumping noises as it slammed against her spine, heavy with magic of olden days.

Slipping on the cold, hard earth, a slight ripping noise emitted as one of her many petticoats ripped into shreds upon one of many masses of small, thorny brambles. Sighing loudly in exasperation, she began the tiring job of ripping her periwinkle blue cotton dress so that only a few layers of the voluminous skirts were left. It was much easier to travel, though her actions had taken up considerable time to escape. As she began to run yet again, she could feel her ebony locks spilling over her shoulders into her pale complexion, which was now quickly turning a rosy pink as she continued. Of her burden was the aforementioned book, some rations for her journey to somewhere - anywhere but here - and a pair of gloves. As frivolous as the lady's gloves sounded, they were actually a vessel for part of her power - the power of the water, the tide, the ice of the North. Water and Ice were her strengths, and she used them well, however much others despised and feared her for it. Even her dark strands of hair reflected this, for from the very tips of each few locks was hanging a shard of pure Ice, and yet it did not melt even when subjected to the highest of temperatures - this was the same with the hem of many of her gowns, and as the daughter of a visiting duke, she had many. However, what with his death, upon this unfortunate day for the young heiress, her world had been turned upside-down as her power had been found out and and she herself run out of the small town in which Duke Dere and the Sorceress herself has been staying.

'T was their final stop before they were the arrive at the castle, and the young female teenager would then have been left behind when Dere returned to their homeland of Milerla, a sort of "gift". This was no doubt infuriating to the girl - whose name, which I should have revealed by now, was Veila - and would explain why she had so carelessly practiced her magic so that someone would have even the slightest chance of seeing it.

Running towards the shady building in the distance, Veila soon approached it, but as she did so, she drew back as well. 'T was that hated structure that she would have been deserted at - the castle of Amiala. Veila could only hope, perhaps in vain, that they would not treat her as a worker of Dark Magic, but as the frightened and frail female mage that she was.

[Rielle]

Damiala, Tavern, Late Afternoon -

A few dark blonde locks rustled and fell into the eyes of a young woman as she moved silently in her seat inside the building. Overlooking the window, the small wooden stool was nothing to look at - but its current inhabitant certainly was. Wrinkled lines ran across her forehead as she looked out; the windowsill was covered in perhaps an age's worth of accumulated dust, which rose and fell in small clouds as the young lady moved. Her faded maroon cloak took most of the blunt of the small dust storm which arose when she did, but she merely let a single graceful hand run over the fabric to wipe it away. As she did so, however, a few passerby would have been able to see the weapons that gleamed under the clothing that so well concealed them. Two hook-edged, steel blades gleamed faintly, the glimmer caught and held by the cloth that had also caught and held the dust so well. If the wearer of the garment had not taken care to only let a partial amount of the blades shine through, the silver hilts that were each inset with a small, glass-like oval gem would have been clearly visible.

Of course, she had, and that was why she caught less eyes than she had when she'd arrived at the tavern. Underneath her cloak, barely visible when she'd opened it slightly to brush off the dust and not visible at all now that she had finished brushing it off, her garments were simple; merely a worn black tunic and breeches. Her boots were brown leather, simple, but elegant and allowing for free movement; she used this to her advantage as she weaved her way through the crowd of what she considered to be barbarians, drunkards and louts. Wrinkling her nose slightly at the profanity that escaped their mouthes and the smells that wafted throughout the rafters and the rest of the creaky old building, she made her way to the door, meaning to leave.

She was detained, as she had almost wanted to occur, by a drunken man. Looking him over as he did so, in a more free manner, she spat at his feet with disgust. The young woman almost wished she could unsheath one of her weapons and cut him apart, but her blades weren't meant for humans - they'd been meant for vampires, and that was the only thing she used them for. Vampyre filth. However, her morals did not stop her from quickly unsheathing the small but sharp dagger she hid in her left boot. Hissing at him, she pushed him aside, as he recoiled from her and the knife that she had almost used to slice his arm off. "Filthy animal," she muttered darkly as she left the tavern threshold, entering the crowd of humans outside and blending in.

[Rielle]

Deliar && Garter, Dormitory, Midmorning -

Silver drops of liquid dripped from the shoulders and eboby locks of a female teenager as she took her first few steps into the dormitory Deliar had used for so long. Smiling at the familiar setting, though she had taken most of the decor down at the end of the last school year, she let the two suitcases Deliar carried clatter to the light blue carpeted floor, with a slight thumping sound. Spring was about, and as the sophomore student carefully picked up her luggage and set them on the white and blue sheets, so precisely spread out on the mattress. The silvery liquid that ran down her slender frame now dropped onto the impeccable room's floor and bed. The white walls had not changed, and neither had the small chest the girl had always used for clothing storage - that much she could tell. However, as she blinked, sure there had not been another bed in her room the year before, she noticed that more baggage than what she had brought was lying on the navy blue and black sheets, contrasting with her own. Hmm. A roommate, perhaps? Deliar pondered this for but a few moments, hoping that it had only been a fluke, or an illusion created from her own lunar power.

Well, if it was, Deliar resolved to adapt as well as she could. Maybe it would be another Illusionist - like herself - and she would actually have fun with him. From the bedsheets alone, that was all Deliar could assume. Tilting her head to one side and looking down as she adjusted her faded blue jeans and her simple white shirt, tucking in the small but stubborn collar. Muttering a few foul words out loud as she struggled to push one of the 'other' suitcases, she let it make contact with the floor, before kicking it under the second bed. "Rude, little..." she muttered, somewhat cranky. Missing lunch was finally getting to her, but it wasn't as if she couldn't skip a meal or two. Lunch was a tempting prospect then, and as she pushed her now dry locks back, her stomach protested its having been empty for about two hours after her designated lunch time. Her foul stream of words abruptly lapsed into a sudden, wild shout as something - an apparation? - shimmered in midair and became solid. Falling over her own feet while the being grinned as if it actually found her fright amusing, the being became completely solid; Deliar finally managed to stand back up. Walking over and positioning himself on Deliar's bed, his grin grew wider - if that were even possible. "Hello," he said in a cheery and mischievous way, "I'm Garter."

Deliar's eyes grew to resentful slits, and as she regained her composure, she raised her hand to slap him, but - as she did not have the heart - soon whipped right around and marched out, slamming the door in her wake and letting even more foul language escape her. If she had had fangs, surely she would have bared them - possibly even bit him.

Garter, looking out the door after Deliar as she made her dramatic exit, blinked and tilted his head to the right in confusion. Had it been something he'd said? It certainly wasn't what he'd been wearing - a red plaid shirt and jeans - but maybe his sudden appearance had startled her to the point she'd gone over the edge? More likely. Hmm. Quite an atyipical reaction, he thought, as he grinned and ran a hand through his mussy red hair.

[Rielle]

Amberle, Unknown Prison, Late Evening -

"Yeah, it sure did," came the voice of another female, edged with both sarcasm and annoyance. Being a Shadow Elemental, her physical and mental condition were both quite attuned to it. Dark ebony locks falling straight down to her slender waist, accompanied by dark amber eyes, rustled quietly as the girl stood up from her position leaning against the wall of her own dome, showing her grey t-shirt and faded jeans, as well as that fact that she had no pupils in her eyes - the teenage girl was blind. However, it seemed not to be a setback for the female, but an advantage, since her eyes preferred dark settings to the flooding and almost blinding light that reflected off the mirror-like walls of her glass prison. A pale complexion devoid of blemishes and wrinkles showed, as well as an athletic disposition, as the teenager cracked her knuckles, which promptly flamed with a dark, moving substance that was her element. Each of her sharp fingernails were a deep black, sleek and depthless, giving no reflection of the light as her hands searched the walls for any crevice or crack through which she could send her element to help free herself. Unaware of the others she was not, though the female couldn't see with her eyes, her element allowed her to probe for shadows, and for the sources of light, as well as living beings, not to mention a few other handy abilities. Scowling when she found none with her hands, the female let out a few blazing balls of shadow, without even blinking as they weaved around her, and then along the sides and curved ceiling of their master's prison. "I see our earthen friend has at least found a passage out," she mused aloud. "Perhaps my friend shadows of this place will aid me as her friend roots have aided the Earth Elemental."

With that thought, the teenager reached out to the walls again, her most faithful shadows having already disappeared back inside her, as the young woman scoured the places outside and nearby her place of confinement for those who would recognize her power, so attuned to the darkness after seeing nothing but it with her amber eyes for so long.

[Rielle]

Wyndra, Park, Early Evening -

Honey golden locks rimmed with a contrasting brown framed the face of a young woman as she scowled, the few ivory flakes of snow falling from the sky coating her shoulders and holding fast to the hair that hung raggedly around her shoulders, brushing them occasionally as she moved, her sleek boots giving little sound to the light layer of snow that was crushed under the young woman's feet, until they met with the hard cement that was the sidewalk running through the length of the park. Her attire seemed simple enough; merely a black trench coat, hiding the slim, tan turtleneck underneath but for the prominent collar and her black slacks but for the hems of the legs. She looked ordinary enough, regardless of her almost queenly elegance and swiftness of foot as the female moved on; the ties that held her coat to her slim but athletic frame were loose, giving passerby a glimpse as to what she also hid underneath - weapons. Ordinarily, the woman would have never revealed them, but her confidence that the now growing shower of almost opaque snow would shield them from view was perhaps in vain. The snow did not hide them; it merely reflected blinding white "light" off the short knife and the pistols that were tucked into her belt. The slayer preferred not to carry larger weapons; swords and butterfly knives - which she used on occasion when she was set a more difficult task to accomplish - were usually out of the question completely.

Her name?

Well, why should anyone have reason to know that?